Cross Blades

Cross Blades

Chapter the Second: Rookie’s Gambit


Time Setting: The end levels of Halo 2 to the first level of Halo 3. The end of the story is parallel to Twin Blades: Comrades (Chapter the Sixth).


Usze ‘Tahamee paced nervously. It was quiet right now, and the quiet was upsetting him. He was grateful for the helmet which hid his expression from the rookie.

‘Tahamee and ‘Sraomee were positioned outside the building into which Tartarus had taken the human Commander, Miranda Keyes. Even now, noises of a battle between Tartarus and his Brutes, and the Arbiter, his Elites and the allied Humans echoed out from within.

Usze felt that he should be in that building as well. A Perfect Warrior would be in the midst of combat against Tartarus, not wasting his sword skills guarding the door.

But a Perfect Warrior did not talk back to his Arbiter. There was no way he could get into that building now without disobeying the Arbiter’s direct order. He and ‘Sraomee were supposed to stay out here and prevent Tartarus from getting any reinforcements.

And they had done that. A pile of dead Brutes on either side of the doorway attested to the fact that they weren’t just standing out here polishing their armour.

Usze snuck a glance at ‘Sraomee. The rookie was checking the Brutes’ bodies, helping himself to grenades and ammunition. He also looked up regularly, scanning and smelling for trouble, rather than becoming completely absorbed with his looting.

Usze wondered if he hadn’t perhaps been too judgmental towards N’tho. The rookie could fight, and had just saved his life with a grenade. In fact, it had been a long time since Usze had seen a young warrior with that much raw talent. His prior suspicion that N’tho must be the son of a Councilor or some such had faded; N’tho clearly won his way into SpecOps based on ability, not family connections.

‘Sraomee, ‘Sraom…why did ‘Tahamee recognize that name? A familiarity hovered on the verge of recollection, but would not come clear.

Talent, of course, was not enough; Usze’s lifetime of formal sword training had taught him how to evaluate another’s fighting skills, and N’tho had work to do. He sometimes used his natural gifts—speed, dexterity, cunning—to compensate for errors caused by impatience, sloppy form, or stumbles. Compensation, however, was not an ideal; the errors would not have been made in the first place by a more disciplined fighter.

If Usze could teach N’tho even some of his sword forms—well, the rookie would be a force to be reckoned with then.

Then there was movement within the doorway. ‘Tahamee tensed. If it was Tartarus or the Brutes, things would bode poorly for the Arbiter, not to mention the rest of the universe, and it would be up to ‘Tahamee in the absence of any higher-ranking Elite to do something about it.

But it was the Arbiter, accompanied by two Humans.

‘Tahamee pointed his sword at the nearest Human, a dark-skinned male. On the other side of the Arbiter, ‘Sraomee was doing the same to a brown-haired female.

“Can you tell your buddies to put their weapons down?” the male Human said.

“Sheath your blades,” the Arbiter ordered, and the two other Elites obeyed. “We are allied with the Humans now.”

“You are kidding me,” ‘Sraomee said. Usze would never have voiced his dismay aloud, but he was thinking the exact same thing.

The Arbiter glared at N’tho. “The Brutes have tried to kill us. The Prophets ordered them to do it. We have no powerful allies within the Covenant any longer. The Unggoy are panicking; the Kig-Yar and Yanme’e are following the Jiralhanae. For now, the Hunters are with us, but they are confused, and who can fathom the thoughts of Hunters?” His gaze shifted to Usze’s, as though he had read the Blademaster’s mind. “Our best chance is to form an alliance with the Humans. I’ve placed Commander ‘Vadumee in charge of the Covenant military while I go to Earth with Commander Keyes and Sergeant Johnson to finish forging our new alliance.” The Arbiter tilted his head. “I could use an honour guard.”

Usze got a bad taste in his mouth. He’d turned down repeated offers to join the Prophets’ Honour Guard before, because he didn’t want to end up standing uselessly in a ceremonial position. He belonged on a battlefield. But it sounded as though being the Arbiter’s honour guard might be a risky proposition indeed. “As long as I will actually see combat, my Arbiter, it would be an honour to accept.”

The Arbiter smirked. “I think, ‘Tahamee, that you will see all the combat you care to witness.” He nodded to the Humans. “Very well. These two shall accompany me.”

Sergeant Johnson peered at the two Sangheili. “These two? Okay. We’ve got a drop ship coming down to pick us all up.”

Two? ‘Tahamee shot a glance at ‘Sraomee. The rookie SpecOps warrior was standing there, dumbfounded, mandibles churning—but at least he’d managed a proper salute.

Usze felt a churning wave of anger and frustration. He had the skills to earn a place on the Arbiter’s honour guard. ‘Sraomee was just getting the position because he was in the right place at the right time. N’tho did not deserve it.

But it was not Usze’s place to voice that concern. A Perfect Warrior did not whine, and a Perfect Warrior did not call the Arbiter’s judgment into question, particularly not in front of Humans. Doubtlessly the Arbiter had thought that the other Sangheili he had with him—including a Councillor, a Zealot and a former Honour Guard—had more vital jobs elsewhere.

Usze tried to be charitable. N’tho ‘Sraomee had needed to win his place on the SpecOps team, and he was a Swordsman. And he had saved Usze’s life. If he couldn’t handle the position he’d just earned, the Arbiter would surely replace him.

But ‘Tahamee could not drive away his feeling of trepidation. He was about to go to an alien planet, where he could only guess at what a Perfect Warrior might do in his interactions with the bizarre creatures called Humans. He was going with the Arbiter, who was probably the leader of their entire species now, and his only support in his duties was a SpecOps rookie.

Usze ‘Tahamee was in for the challenge of his life.

*

N’tho ‘Sraomee sat in the mess of the Human spaceship, looking around and sniffing in complete fascination.

The Arbiter was off with Commander Keyes, probably on the bridge, talking to Earth about the new alliance between Sangheili and Humans, or else trying to contact surviving Sangheili ships to warn them about the Prophet’s betrayal and the Brutes’ purge. N’tho wished he could help, but no one would take the word of a Minor Domo in such a critical matter. So instead, he’d taken it upon himself to look after Sangheili/Human relations on this very ship.

Some of the Marines were regarding the three Sangheili with clear hostility. N’tho steered clear of these to sit on the other side of the passenger bay, near other Humans who appeared more curious than anything.

“Wish we knew what we were up against now,” one of the Marines was saying.

“Jiralhanae,” N’tho replied with a growl.

“What?” The Humans stared at him.

“Brutes,” N’tho clarified. “Jiralhanae is their name for themselves. They’ve replaced the Sangheili in the Covenant Military.”

“What’s a Sangheili?” one of the Humans asked warily. A label on its uniform read PEREZ.

“We are,” N’tho explained, gesturing to himself. “My people—the ones you call Elites. And you thought we were bad? Wait till you see Brutes up close. They got machines—Choppers—with big blades on the front that can chew right through a Ghost…or one of your, what’re they called? Pumas? The ones with four wheels, and the gun on the back?”

“Warthogs,” another Human offered. This one had dark skin, short curly hair, and a higher-pitched voice. It also had a different build—the width of its body was at the hips, not the shoulders. This one’s uniform said MBEKI.

“Yeah. Fortunately, Brutes are big and mean, but they’re also dumb. They put all the armour on the front, and don’t leave any for the back, so if you can get ‘em from behind, you can put the Chopper out of commission.”

Two of the Humans exchanged nods.

“As a matter of fact, that’s pretty much Brutes for you. You shoot one enough, they don’t retreat—they come chargin’ at you, all pissed off. You gotta be ready for that. I mean, the Brute’s gonna die, but he’ll take you with him unless you’re prepared to dodge.”

“So we’re supposed to believe you’re on our side now?” asked a third human. This one had wheat-coloured hair, the same build as Mbeki, and was apparently called CYR.

N’tho shrugged. “Would it help to say having a genocide declared on our people was a really convincing reason to get over our natural distate for your species?”

Cyr regarded him and unfolded its arms. “It might not make me like you…but it does make more sense.”

Perez rose out of his seat. “What are we supposed to call you? I know you can read our language…these are our names on our uniforms. What’s yours?”

“N’tho ‘Sraomee.”

“’Sraom,” came a voice behind him.

N’tho didn’t know how Usze managed to move so silently. It was as though the Blademaster had just materialized behind him. He jumped from the surprise, much to the amusement of the Humans.

“What?” N’tho asked.

“’Sraom. Now that we no longer serve the Covenant, we can no longer take pride in our previous service, and there is no reason for us to keep the –ee suffix to our names. You are N’tho ‘Sraom now, as I am Usze ‘Taham.”

N’tho repeated this for the Humans, who still looked confused.

“Nitro and Uzi,” Mbeki said carefully, pointing to each Sangheili in turn. N’tho tried to correct this prononciation, but all the Humans started laughing and repeating the mangled names.

“He’s wrong,” N’tho protested, “it’s N’tho, not Nitro.”

“She,” Perez replied.

“What?” N’tho said again.

“Mbeki’s a girl,” Perez explained. “A female.”

N’tho stared. “Really?” He looked closely at Mbeki. She didn’t seem that different from a male; her scent was almost the same, and so was her skin texture, and her ears. Only the build of the body, those wide hips for carrying eggs, suggested at her gender. By the Rings! Cyr was a female as well!

“Uh, yeah. She’s wrong. It’s N’tho.”

Cyr leaned over to the Minor Domo and said, “This is a joke, and you’re going to be stuck with it. “Nitro” is a short form for an explosive substance. “Uzi” is a kind of heavy weapon. Welcome to Earth, Elite—you’ve got your first nicknames.”

*

N’tho was not entirely certain about working with the Master Chief.

It had been nerve-racking enough to realize that he was one of two personal guards to the Arbiter himself. And the other guard was that awful Blademaster ‘Taham, who seemed to exist to make his life miserable. If he screwed up and the Arbiter caught him, he was finished—if he screwed up and the Arbiter didn’t catch him, ‘Taham certainly would. And all that was assuming his screw-up didn’t end his life at the hands of a Brute, or worse, a bunch of Grunts.

N’tho slunk through the jungle now, toting a carbine. He wanted to keep a healthy distance between himself and the Demon, whom he did not entirely trust. Even the other Humans found the Master Chief to be somewhat creepy, as they put it.

There was just something about guys who never took their helmets off.

Between the Demon and the Blademaster, ‘Taham was the lesser of two evils. And then there was the new Arbiter, whom ‘Sraom found strangely familiar. Something about that guy had been haunting him ever since Delta Halo.

N’tho moved over towards ‘Taham as they jogged along; the Humans’ pace was an easy lope for a Sangheili. “Hey. Uzi.”

The Blademaster turned his head sharply. He was definitely scowling under that helmet. “Sorry. Usze.” N’tho cleared his throat. “Who is that in the Arbiter armour?” N’tho whispered.

“Former Supreme Commander Thel ‘Vadamee.” Usze tilted his head. “How can you not know that?”

Thel. A sudden memory came flooding back to N’tho. It made his hearts pound, and he staggered. He had been so absorbed with his own problems that he had not been keeping current on news; now he looked like a fool, and ‘Taham was still watching him—judging him. N’tho coughed out an answer. “I heard he lost his position as Supreme Commander, but I didn’t know they’d made him Arbiter.”

Usze nodded. “They told him it was an opportunity to atone for his failure.”

“Wow. Sucks to be him.” Already the Human slang came naturally.

The Blademaster tilted his head.

“I mean, that must be difficult. To be given such a weighty and prominent position after such a terrible fall from grace.”

“Indeed,” Usze replied. He stared hard at ‘Sraom’s blade. “If he falls, perhaps we should make you the next Arbiter.”

N’tho knew that ‘Taham was not serious. Only the Hierarchs could choose an Arbiter. The comparison and the gesture, however, were another veiled threat.

What had he done to make ‘Taham hate him so much?

“Halt!” came the voice of Sergeant Johnson through the jungle. “We’ll lay up here, have some lunch, get some rest. Eat quick, though, because at the first sign of Brutes, we’re on the move again.”

N’tho watched the Humans form a rough circle and begin pulling out foil packets from their pockets and sacks. Perez offered N’tho something he called “teriyaki beef,” which N’tho quickly devoured, much to the fascination and disgust of the nearby Humans.

The Arbiter had taken a seat farther away from the group, next to the Demon, no less. N’tho felt his curiousity pique. He had some…interesting…memories of Thel ‘Vadamee. Perhaps he might be able to ingratiate himself to the new Arbiter, and not need to fear the Blademaster’s judgments.

N’tho excused himself, as though to urinate, but once behind a tree, he activated his cloaking device. He wanted to get an up-close look at the Demon, and at the new Arbiter.

N’tho crept up carefully behind the Arbiter and the Master Chief. His cloaking was good, but he knew that if either of them were to see a telltale shimmer, they would probably shoot first and regret that he wasn’t a Brute later—a later he might not live to see.

Thel remained a magnificent example of a Sangheili, handsome in a way that made N’tho’s knees go weak. The Arbiter armour shone golden in the sunlight, radiating a aura of ancient power, breathtaking…

But the Arbiter was not paying any attention to his absent honour guard. He had not noticed that N’tho had vanished. Instead, he appeared engrossed in a conversation with the Demon, which had removed its helmet to eat.

The Demon was…a Human. Just another Human. It looked like a pale variant of any other Human, dressed up in an oversized suit of armour. Was this really the monster of the Halos?

The Demon was speaking, in slow words, of his affection for his AI. The Arbiter confessed to having someone special as well, and held out a picture on his datapad for the Demon to see.

N’tho craned his neck to see the image on the Arbiter’s datapad.

SpecOps Commander Rtas ‘Vadum.

N’tho felt suddenly crushed.

N’tho was the first to admit that he liked male company—regularly—and it didn’t look like he’d be getting much of it here. He didn’t have a hope in hell of competing against Rtas ‘Vadum for the Arbiter’s attentions. Thel ‘Vadam was, and always had been, out of his league.

Rtas was out of reach for other reasons. When Kusovai had died—well, Rtas was a stiking warrior, and a sympathetic mentor, so of course N’tho had gone to the medical bay to visit. It had crossed his mind that if Rtas wanted a little personal comforting in his quarters later, N’tho would have been happy to oblige. But while Rtas had seemed pleased by the visit, one thing had been abundantly clear to N’tho—Rtas had been very much in love with Kusovai, and any damage inflicted on his body was nothing compared to the pain in his soul. The damage was beyond N’tho’s capacity to soothe; even the offer might provoke Rtas to rage. N’tho had wished the SpecOps Commander a swift recovery and excused himself without ever expanding on those well wishes.

Slinking carefully away, N’tho wondered just what the Arbiter had done to make Rtas forget about Kusovai. It had probably been incredible…far more impressive than a submissive and willing Minor Domo could offer.

At least N’tho had found out before he’d said something to the Arbiter and ended up getting shot down in front of the Blademaster. The last thing he needed was ‘Taham goading him on top of the embarrassment of rejection.

The sooner he stopped thinking about the Arbiter, the better.

Unfortunately, the planet Earth did not have that many distractions. He absolutely refused to cross the species line—he might be a slut, but he still had standards—and the only other Sangheili around was…

“Hey, Uzi,” said Sergeant Johnson.

“It is Usze,” the Blademaster responded frostily.

Yeah, N’tho thought. How desperate am I?

Sergeant Johnson looked confused. “Ussssszi,” he tried. “You haven’t had any dinner. Do you want some chili? Or chicken in sweet-and-sour sauce?” He held out two silver-wrapped packages.

“I am not hungry, thank you,” Usze replied primly.

N’tho swallowed hard.

Desperate enough to do whatever it takes to stop ‘Taham from taking my sword.

N’tho didn’t even want to think about that. He drove away his fear as he always did, with a jest. He snagged the second field ration out of Johnson’s head, still cloaked, so the package appeared to fly on its own; he decloaked as he tore it open.

Johnson yelled out a swear word. “Don’t you ever sneak up on me like that again, squidface, or I’ll put a bullet through your dumbass head!”

N’tho didn’t care. He’d ripped open the package, dumped the chicken directly into his mandibles, and was now holding it firmly gripped in the upper pair while the lower pair flayed the meat. He breathed in, sucking shredded chicken down his throat. Delicious.

“Eat fast, split-lip. We need to get moving,” Johnson said. He raised his voice to address the group. “Swallow that down and let’s head out. Nitro and B Squad are on left flank, Uzi, with A Squad on right flank, C Squad in the rear and the Arbiter is on point with the Master Chief. Shift it, people!”

“It’s Uzse,” the Ascetic insisted.

“Whatever.”

*

As they jogged through the tangle of jungle, Usze ‘Taham listened to the chattering of the Humans and wished he were back with the fleet. Seeker of Truth would have been a challenging posting—and he still had an unresolved duel with Fil Storamee—but it would have been better than this strange, damp, alien world he found himself on now.

He did not like this planet. The strange smells and bizarre natives made him feel uncomfortable. He’d found himself needling ‘Sraom all day; he had no other subordinates on whom to exercise his power, and the role of Blademaster was a comforting familiarity on this alien world.

Usze had also lied to Johnson. He was hungry. And he was rapidly approaching the point where even the Perfect Warrior would stoop to eating unknown foodstuffs mixed with plant matter. Even if it would require lifting the illusion of his anonymity by removing his helmet.

Laughter erupted from the left flank, some of it noticeably Sangheili. Usze sped up his pace and drifted left to catch up to them and observe N’tho.

‘Sraom seemed to have struck up a good rapport with the Marines, and their conversation was a series of what seemed to be jokes about Brutes’ mothers.

“A Brute’s momma is so ugly, when you try to take her picture, she shatters your camera lens,” said a Marine whose nametag read PEREZ.

“A Brute’s momma is so fat,” N’tho countered, “she’s got her own moons held in orbit by her gravitational pull.”

“A Brute’s momma is so stupid," another Marine chimed in, "she sits on the TV and watches the couch.”

“A Brute’s momma is so smelly, she has to wear a biohazard sign.”

Usze was not certain about the factual accuracy of any of these statements, but they certainly seemed to be amusing the group.

He was more concerned about how quickly N’tho was picking up Human speech mannerisms—starting with curse words and moving quickly on to Human slang. Usze could hardly understand what he was saying half the time. And why, by the names of all the Ancestors, was N’tho fitting in so quickly with the Humans when he was so awkward among other Sangheili.

Then a female Marine with straw-coloured hair happened to glance his way. She lowered her voice, but apparently she had no idea of how sharp a Sangheili’s hearing was, because Usze heard her ask N’tho, “How come Uzi never takes his helmet off?”

N’tho answered, face perfectly composed, “It’s ‘cause he’s really ugly under there, and he’s sort of self conscious about it and doesn’t want anyone else to see.”

The Marines snickered, but the scowl on Usze’s face was becoming permanent. He might not have had the classic good looks of the Sangheili battle statues that graced the pillars of the War College in Iruiru, but he was hardly ugly. N’tho’s stupid joke just showcased the rookie’s ignorance.

Ascetics wore their helmets almost all the time, because they were supposed to be avatars, living representations of a Sangheili ideal. When they took their vows, they subordined their own individual identities to the service of the Order; one of the methods of accomplishing this was hiding their unique facial features beneath covering armour. When other Sangheili looked at him, they were supposed to see the Perfect Warrior first, and Usze ‘Taham second. It was like that for any Ascetic.

He wasn’t ugly. He wasn’t.

He let his strides shorten until N’tho and his Human comrades were ahead of him once more. B Squad was keeping pace with him, but although they were talking to one another, none of them addressed him.

Humans—these scrawny, squabbling little animals who had dared to name him, to change his given name Usze—the Sangheili word for “honourable”—to a word for a rocket launcher or some such. An inferior Human weapon, no less. It made his hearts pound with disgust and rage.

No. The Perfect Warrior focused on action, not emotion. Usze ‘Taham wished he were that Perfect Warrior. Right now, he could not concentrate fully on his actions. He was too busy feeling alone, very alone, on this alien world.